


Finding You

by MoMoMomma



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, M/M, Multi, Romantic Soulmates, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: No matter the situation, no matter the man, Rook is never quite ready to meet his soulmate.





	1. Joseph's Emotions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



> This is a MASSIVE commission from 99shadowcat99 whom I adore so much <3 They asked for each Seed brother finding Rook as their soulmate and then a final fic where they're ALL his soulmate. I hope you enjoy! (And no, for future reference, the fics aren't connected or set in the same timeline. Just posted as one big fic for easy reading!)

Joseph starts to feel it for the first time when he’s 11. It’s not uncommon nowadays, he’s always in pain from one thing or another. But this is a different sort of pain, not aches from the lashes on his back or a pulsing throb from the swelling of his cheek. It’s almost _fear_ , visceral in a way that he’s never felt before. No amount of screaming or the stench of whiskey has ever made him feel this way.

Like he’s dying. Like he’s _going_ to die.

He rolls over, grabs for Jacob in the dark, tries to steady his breathing through the panic so he doesn’t wake John. His brother stirs and is awake in a moment, one hand on his shoulder, the other folding over the one Joseph has fisted in his shirt. 

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I don’t _know_.” He’s crying, muffled sobs that he’s trying to bite back so hard he’s going to gnaw clean through his lip at this point. “It hurts. I think I’m dying, Jacob.”

“Are you sick? Where does it hurt?”

“ _Everywhere_.” Joseph’s voice cracks and he surges forward, buries his face in Jacob’s chest as John makes snuffling waking sounds behind him. 

“J’seph? What’s th’ matter?”

“He’s alright, John.” Jacob tries to soothe them both, keeps his voice low.

At this rate, Joseph is barely keeping himself together. It’s only the fear of waking his father that has him trying to swallow the sobbing. He claws at Jacob’s shirt, his hands, trying to find some sort of balance. Everything feels too much, too new, like he’s never experienced a single thing in this world before and it’s _terrifying_.

And when he tells Jacob as much, through hiccuped breaths and choked gasps, so is Jacob’s heartbroken expression. 

“Shit. I thought maybe--” He shakes his head, like he’s banishing whatever he “thought” back to oblivion. “It’s your soulmate. They were probably just born. It happens, it happened to me.”

Joseph remembers, even through the panic. Remembers Jacob going stock still while giving him a bath once, suds up his arms, staring blankly at the wall as his chest started to rise and fall so rapidly it looked like it hurt. Remembers how _scared_ Jacob had looked. How his big, strong, older brother had curled into a ball against the bathroom cabinet and shook apart. 

Joseph hadn’t done as good a job keeping it a secret as Jacob is right now. He’d started yelling, mindless with worry, thinking he was going to lose his big brother. They’d both paid dearly for interrupting the quiet of the household.

_”Children should be seen and not heard.”_

“I’m...so scared. What do I do?”

“Try and think comforting things. Relaxing things. It might help them if you can already form the bond and calm them down.”

Joseph tries. Tries to push through the panic. Focuses on the elation in his chest--his father was _wrong_. He isn’t tainted, isn’t sinful. He has a soulmate out there in the world. God saw him and saw fit to give him the other half of his soul. Put it into a body on earth. 

He tries to reach out. Touch the glowing portion inside of him that screams right now, terrified and overwhelmed. He feels a smile curl his mouth when something reaches back, clumsy, probably only reaching because it’s something soft and almost familiar in a world where nothing else is.

“I’m going to find you, soulmate.” He whispers into Jacob’s chest, hearing his older brother’s breath hitch. “And I am going to love you. Until you’re not scared anymore.”

And maybe...if he’s lucky...his soulmate will do the same for him.

.O.

Then he’s 23 and everything goes wrong. He thinks God is testing him. Punishing him, maybe, for daring to be with someone other than his soulmate. He knows it was wrong, knew it from the first second, but she was gentle and soft and her smile made his chest ache. And he could feel the tentative comfort from his soulmate whenever the worries kept him up, when the guilt churned in his stomach until he was heaving over the toilet and trying not to wake her. 

His soulmate, whoever and wherever they are, is kind. Gentle.

He knows this once he has obeyed the voice in his head that is not them. The word of God given a new oracle. Transforming him into something more, something greater. He knows how gentle they are when he steps outside, makes his way a block from the hospital, and collapses onto a bench. It feels like his heart is tearing itself apart, the knowledge that he did what he was supposed to and fear that he somehow got it all wrong.

Doubt. Worry. All the things that are poison to his faith, things he can’t seem to shake. 

He feels the barest hint of something shifting inside his mind. In his heart. Deeper and more important than both. It’s like a hug, a hand on his shoulder, and a comforting presence at his side. 

_Are you okay?_

His soulmate is still young. The comfort is clumsy, like when John had tried as a child to wipe away his tears with shaking hands. But there is a determination there, like stomping into the darkness on a rescue mission despite shaking knees and a trembling heart. His soulmate is young but already so kind, reaching across their bond like warm water to caress the aching parts of his soul.

He wants to meet them. Wants to know them. But he has a greater task now. One that is divinely gifted unto him. He has seen the light and he will do as he is commanded. Will bring the word of God to everyone he can, save souls even if they do not want to be saved. 

Joseph will do this because his soulmate is kind. Because his soulmate would not want even the unworthiest of sinners to die simply because they didn’t repent. He will cleanse as many as he can however he needs to, with blood and pain and _fire_ if necessary. Because his soulmate will be among them and he will not allow such a gentle heart to suffer because of others. 

He will not let the greed, the _immorality_ of this world anywhere near his soulmate. He will create a new world, a new _Eden_. And they will march through the gates together. 

But first...he needs his brothers. Needs a family. His soulmate has a family, he’s felt the distant pangs of familiarity, of love. He cannot ensure that they will be able to be cleansed, can’t leave anything to chance. It’s only proper he offers something in return if he must take them from their blood. A better family, perhaps. A different one, certainly. 

Jacob and John will be difficult to find, scattered as though they surely are. But he will do it. And the determination swells, gets pushed through the bond, until there’s a cautious supportive wave coming back to him.

His soulmate will understand it all, in time. There will be no more hesitation between them, no more caution. Trust and faith will be the building blocks of their love. 

Anything is possible if he simply has hope.

.O.

He finds his brothers. Finds his flock. Finds his place in the world in a county called Hope. It was almost too fitting, an amusement shared between the bond that had his soulmate curiously poking back like they wanted in on the joke. Joseph had tapped the name under his finger, met John and Jacob’s eyes, and made his proclamation.

And they are here now. They have been here. It was a process, getting everything they needed from a town full of so many distrustful sinners. It’s been years now, but Joseph is finally ready to call his soulmate home. He knows they’ve been off exploring the world, has felt the familiar nerves of leaving home, of going somewhere new. 

He thinks, vaguely, they might help people for a living. There’s an almost constant stream of quietly pleased happiness. Despite the panic and the anger and the fear, his soulmate is doing something that they love and Joseph thinks, knows, it must be helping others.

They are too kind for it not to be. 

He pushes at the bond when the feelings of being lost, of wanting something new, crop up. Exacerbates them. Fakes the emotions until his heart is racing and he feels the need to bolt from the comfort of his own home. It takes a bit, panicked emotions unstable at best, but he finally feels what he wants.

Curiosity. Questioning confusion.

_Where do you want me to go? What do you want me to do?_

He thinks of hope. Thinks about the hope that kept him alive a child, that everything would change for the better. Thinks about the hope when Jacob had set the fire and freed them, the hope that everything was over. Focuses on the hope he’d felt bloom when he’d found this place to lead his flock. 

Joseph knows it’s enough. Can feel the understanding, the compliance. They are nervous but it’s almost an undertone, like he’s pushed enough hope through the bond that it buries anything else, crushes it underneath its boot.

And he prepares. Prepares his family for what is to come. Prepares his home to accept his soulmate into it. Jacob can tell something is different, something has changed, confronts him quietly one night when he’s preparing for a sermon to his people.

“You’re different.”

“We are all different, Jacob. It is the way of time.”

“There aren’t any of the faithful around, you don’t have to play it up, Joseph. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“The Collapse will soon begin. And we must prepare. This has been the plan since the moment we came, Jacob, or have you forgotten?”

Jacob crosses his arms, shakes his head. Always so ready to fight anything that’s put in his way. It makes him perfect as their soldier, their protector. Sliding easy into the role he’s filled since childhood. But it does make him an insurmountable obstacle when Joseph has something he’d like to, ripping back covers and shining a light on everything he’d rather keep tucked away.

“My soulmate is coming. Here and soon, I hope. I...may have….tempted them.”

“How in the hell did you manage that?”

“I made them restless. _More_ restless. Sent them searching for a home. I can only hope that they listened, that they come and see.”

“And what if they don’t approve?” Jacob waves a hand around, as if it encompasses everything in such a simple question.

But it does and Joseph understands. And feels a twinge of fear in his gut, something he’s always managed to bury. His soulmate _has_ to understand, understand what Joseph has built for them, for their new family. It may be difficult, but he will help them to see if he has to. If the world has poisoned their mind before he could cleanse it.

“They will come to accept it. Come to love our family just as I do. How could they not?”

Jacob grunts but doesn’t say anything more. Joseph knows he’s dealing with his own troubles more often than not, as of late. Jacob had found his soulmate here, just as John had. It would seem all their destinies were to lead them here, in the end. But Jacob hadn’t said anything more than admitting he knew who his soulmate was and brushing aside any encouragement to find them, to be with them.

John had done much of the same and it breaks Joseph’s heart to think his brothers are so numb to the idea of being loved they reject God’s plans for them. 

He will show them. When his soulmate arrives--and they will come, he knows this like he knows the beat of his heart--he will show his brothers how happy they could be with their soulmate. Will wash away their doubts and prove happiness can be found if only they are willing to risk it. To put their total faith in God’s plans for their other half.

.O.

God is testing him. 

It’s the only thing that makes sense. Testing his faith, his resolve, his dedication to his soulmate and the plans whispered in his ear so many years ago. Joseph hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t gotten a chance to get to his soulmate before the town, the petty _Resistance_ , had poisoned his mind. 

Twisted the true meaning of his church and his word into something sinister and menacing. They had made him _fear_ Joseph and it is only the reminder that his soulmate is gentle and soft that keeps him from demanding their blood be spilled. Atonement will not come easy for them but they will be offered it nonetheless, no matter how badly he wants to rip the chance from their grasping and sinful fingers. 

For his soulmate. For _Rook_.

“Deputy Rook. I know you have been lied to. I know you have been misled. But you do not have to fear us. Do not have to fear _me_.”

“Come _on_ , Rookie. Put the damn cuffs on.”

His soulmate is frozen even as the man to his side snarls at him. Joseph wants to rip him down, make him suffer for even thinking of speaking to his soulmate like that. But he can’t focus on that right now. All he can focus on is the coiled fear that is not his in the back of his mind. The bond is stretching thin, like Rook is pulling back, pulling _away_. 

“I didn’t know.” It’s barely more than a murmur, one Joseph has to strain to hear over the shouting of his flock outside, rejecting the snakes in their garden. “I didn’t know you were--I would never have come--”

“You had no choice. God meant for us to be together.” Joseph cuts his eyes aside, at the Sheriff and then at the Marshal. “God will not let them take me. Will not let us be separated after we have searched for each other for so long.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.” The Marshal snaps, reaches out and pushes against Rook’s shoulder.

There’s irritation that burns bright for a moment, something Joseph tries to stoke, to build into a blaze until Rook turns on someone who has no right to touch his body. But Rook slams it down, effectively snapping the bond like a whip and sending Joseph reeling though he keeps his mask firmly in place. 

His soulmate is kind and gentle and _wrathful_. His anger burns bright, buried under the care and love he has for his fellow men. And Joseph can only think of how fitting it is. He isn’t wrathful by nature. He’s had his moments, of course, but it is ultimately greed that drives him. Greed that called his soulmate here, removed him from whatever life he lived before so he could be at Joseph’s side. 

They would not fit if they shared the same sin. It is just another sign that they are meant to be. 

Rook reaches out then, like he’s only acting to punish Joseph. Slips the cuffs around his wrists gently and pushes them down. He can see the Marshal’s smug face in his peripheral but he doesn’t bother paying attention to it. Can only focus on Rook’s touch, his hand on his shoulder, and the way he lingers close. Like he can’t help but press in tight to what his soul knows is the other half of it. 

He may resist. May be weak to the cruel and false words the others have filled his mind with. But his soul knows where it belongs, who it belongs with. 

And Joseph planned for this. Always knew of the prophecy. He didn’t expect Rook to be involved, but it matters little. He made his plans...and his faithful brought them to fruition. 

He feels Rook’s panic. His fear. His _pain_ when the helicopter crashes down. Joseph pushes his own pain down, lets happiness flow through the bond until he sees Rook’s lips curve into a smile even in his unconscious state. He can hear Nancy playing her part, begging to hear from anyone. She likely knows about the crash, is desperate to find out if he’s alright just as his people had been when they’d freed him from the wreckage. 

Rook is awake. Reaching for the headset. Joseph makes sure he’s gentle when he captures his hand, not wishing to cause any more pain. There’s shock, surprise, and then a dawning sense of terror and--no. No, that’s not _right_.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me. Whatever they’ve told you...I would never hurt you. Never cause you undue harm.”

He tips their foreheads together, best he can while Rook is still upside down and slowly starting to panic. Brushes a kiss against his cheek. 

“I love you. I have loved you for so long. And now that I have you, I will allow _nothing_ to come between us.”

The Marshall is waking behind him, Joseph turning with a scowl, meeting too wide eyes. His people are gathering around, ready on his command. He allows himself to be distracted for one single second to deliver his judgment onto someone who threatened to separate he and Rook.

“No one is coming to save you.”

He doesn’t pay attention when his people take the Deputies. They know where they are all to be sent. He focuses only on Rook, freeing him carefully from his seat and carrying him out of the helicopter. He resists, for a moment, but he is weak, injured. And there is a sense of acceptance through their bond that makes Joseph smile so broadly it hurts. 

“I will take you home. To our home. I’ve prepared it for this moment.”

“This can’t be happening.” Rook groans, but turns his face into Joseph’s chest as they carefully maneuver into the back seat of the waiting truck.

Probably to avoid the eyes of the faithful. They have waited too, been told of Rook’s kind nature and his place at Joseph’s side. They are all so eager to meet Rook and he can’t hide his joy at the quick acceptance of his people, at the way they whisper with smiles and shining eyes. 

But the introduction will have to wait. Joseph needs to acquaint himself with Rook first.

.O.

“I felt it when you were born. Did you know that?”

“Was it scary?” Rook’s sitting up against the headboard, finally able to do so now that his broken ribs have somewhat healed.

His ankle is still in a cast, will be for at least another week according to both the doctors and Rook himself. Joseph has been taking care of him in the meanwhile, helping him to adjust to his new life. There are times where Rook looks at him, when reports come in as to how the Reaping of the county is progressing, with fear. With distrust. 

But Joseph expected this. He always earns it back, with soft touches and careful feelings of love ushered through their bond. It has been little over three weeks and Rook is, just now, adjusting to his new life. He’d resisted at first, been petulant and snappish, but Joseph had simply pressed wave after wave of love through their bond until he stopped. 

He has so much love to give after so many years. He’s barely even begun to tap the well within him. 

“It was, yes. Very much so.” Joseph admits, sliding into bed next to Rook with a steaming cup of coffee. “I clung to Jacob like a child, crying. I didn’t know what was happening to me.”

“To be fair,” Rook murmurs around the rim after Joseph hands the mug over, “I’m pretty sure I didn’t know what the hell was happening either.”

It’s enough to make him laugh, softly, leaning in to nuzzle his face into Rook’s throat. There’s a slight hesitation, a moment of worry, but then Rook’s chin tips up to allow him more room. Two weeks ago, a single week ago even, this would have been impossible. Rook would have chased him away with sharp words. But he is changing, accepting what’s between them.

Even cautiously sending his appreciation for small gestures like the coffee through the bond he once used like a weapon. He can still do that, Joseph has found out, snap it tight and make it reverb until Joseph’s chest aches and he’s gritting his teeth. But he only does it when Joseph pushes for too much too fast and stops the moment he relents.

Just as kind as Joseph always knew he was. 

“When did you know I was out there? Do you remember the first time?”

Rook sucks his teeth, tips his head up towards the ceiling. It’s something he does when he thinks, a little action so familiar he doesn’t even think about it, and Joseph is always in awe of learning these little details about his soulmate.

“I was in...Kindergarten, I think? My first day of school. I was fucking terrified, holding onto my mom’s leg so hard I’m pretty sure, looking back, I left bruises.” There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he glances back down. “And then I felt this wave of comfort. Like someone had swept me into their arms and told me everything was going to be alright. That’s when I knew you were out there somewhere.”

“I remember,” Joseph says softly, stroking a hand down Rook’s thigh. “I was sleeping. And I awoke feeling so upset, awoke with a sob in my throat. And I knew I had to help you.”

“Sorry. I was kinda a crybaby when I was a kid. That probably made it hard on you.”

Joseph thinks of his own suffering. Of what must have slipped through the bond despite him trying to suppress it, protect Rook even then from any pain.

“I don’t think,” he says softly, “that you were solely responsible for that. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s...hey. It’s okay. I turned out alright.”

“You turned out _wonderful_.” Joseph breathes, rising to his knees, cupping Rook’s face in his hands. “You are everything I ever dreamed of and more. So much more.”

Rook doesn’t return the sentiment, but that’s alright. That will come in time. He has forever with Rook, will have more time once judgment day comes and they go into hiding together. He does tip his head up for Joseph’s kiss, allows him to deepen it, humming at the taste of coffee on Rook’s tongue. 

“I love you. I have loved you from the moment you took your very first breath.” Joseph says against his lips, against his breathy sort of sigh. “I know you fear things, that you do not yet see the truth. But you will. I will guide you, lead you.”

“As one of your children?”

“You are nothing like my children. I am their Father, a figure they look to for guidance, to lead them into Eden. I am your _mate_. I will not lead you, for your place is not at my heel but at my side.”

“You’re--that’s really romantic.” Rook shifts, uneasy, a flush on his cheeks. “I...uh...I still don’t believe. Can’t. But I...trust you. And I’m trying to be what you want me to be.”

“I want you to simply be yourself. Nothing more.”

“Myself isn’t all that great.”

“On the contrary,” Joseph sighs nosing into his cheek, feeling love burst bright in their bond as Rook cautiously strokes a hand down his side. “You are everything I have ever wanted. Ever needed. You are the other part of me. And just by existing...you are a miracle.”


	2. John's True Colors

Rook knew he was going to have to pay for it. Knew it even as he radioed, laughing, up to Nick and loaded another mortar into the launcher. Despite Dutch’s encouragement and the fun he’d had, the knowledge that John was going to retaliate had always been there. Lingering in the back of his mind, like oil, spreading and spreading until he was glancing over his shoulder and jumping at every stray sound. 

John makes him nervous. More so than the other Heralds. And Rook isn’t quite sure why.

He has a terrible feeling he’s about to find out, though.

Because he made a mistake. Turned too fast, nearly flipped his quad, had to ditch it in a hurry. And while John’s Chosen aren’t particularly good trackers, some of them are crack shots. Especially with the Bliss bullets. He’s heard rumors Eden’s Gate picked people with soulmates on purpose to be their hunters, so they saw the world better.

Rook didn’t stand a chance. Not when the hunter’s grey uniforms blended into the grey and darker grey of the world around him. He’d gone down in a haze of sparkles and white, numb fingers clawing at the grass, body still panicking and trying to escape even as his brain sunk into unconsciousness.

And now he’s coming up out of the water with a gasp. It’s Blissed too, leaving him swaying in place, leaning more than he wants to on the Peggie holding him. They’re gentle, both in touch and the way they look at him, and Rook doesn’t know why but he doesn’t think he _wants_ to know. He’s heard John’s threats over the radio, heard Joseph’s quiet demands that he be brought in alive.

Rook has no idea what the hell Eden’s Gate wants him for but they don’t want him dead. And that’s enough, for the moment. One stray bit of hope in his otherwise bullshit life. 

Except John might not see it that way. Might not take big brother’s orders into account, going by the way his lip twitches into a snarl as he smacks his bible into the Peggie’s chest.

“Not this one. This one’s not clean.”

He doesn’t have time to react, save for grasping weakly at John’s forearms as he’s shoved under. The world explodes again, Bliss filling his veins and his head until it almost seems the black and white of his world is fading. His fingers become claws, scratching at John’s exposed forearms, and his chest feels like it’s on fire when he’s dragged back up for air.

God, this Bliss. It’s dark out but there are flashes in the corners of his vision, almost like colors. If the Bliss can give even people without soulmates colors, Rook can understand why it’s so tempting. 

Good thing it just makes him feel nauseous. Or, of course, that could be the way his body braces as John shoves forward once again with a rough sound. 

“John.”

Rook has never been so fucking pleased to see Joseph Seed in his _life_.

“Do you mock the cleansing, John?”

John flinches, barely perceptible but _there_ nonetheless. Fingers flexing in Rook’s shirt, the tendons in his forearms moving under Rook’s limp grasp.

“No, Joseph.”

“You have to _love_ him, John. He is your salvation. Your _soulmate_.”

What?

Rook tries to ask. Tries to make his mouth open and spit out the questions. But he can’t. Because beyond John’s forearms is the blue of his shirt, the black of his vest, and the blueblueblue of his eyes. Beyond that is the green of the truck and the yellow of Joseph’s glasses and--Oh, God.

“No.” Rook moans softly as John drags him forward, all but shoves him onto the shore and closer to Joseph’s reach. “No, I don’t want--”

“Shhh.” Joseph cups his face, brings their foreheads together for a mere moment. “This is what is to be. You can no more fight this than you can fight the rise of the tide or setting of the sun.”

He draws back, squeezes Rook’s cheeks gently for a moment--a move that’s too familiar, too friendly, and Rook wishes he had even the slightest control of his body so he could jerk away. Joseph turns his attention to John, then, hovering at his side, a grip so tight on Rook’s bicep it’s going to leave bruises. 

“He will not be taken to Atone this night.”

“Joseph, I--”

“John.” It’s the closest Joseph’s come to snapping and he sees that flinch in John’s shoulders once more. “He. Will. Not. You are to take him to your home, cleanse him of the Bliss. You have to learn to love him, John.”

He reaches out, cups John’s head, brings him in close. Rook can barely focus but he sees the way John’s shoulders go tight, crawling up around his ears. Like he’s expecting a punch even though Joseph hasn’t so much as raised his voice. 

“You will accept him. You will learn to live together as soulmates. Or the gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

“Yes, Joseph.” It’s the smallest Rook’s ever heard John’s voice, too used to hearing him shout and snap through the radio. 

He lets go with a pet to John’s head, like he’s some dog that just finished being scolded. Joseph offers him one last look, one that Rook tries to return as a glare, before striding off into whatever the fuck the Father does when he’s not making Rook’s life hell. 

Or dropping bombshells.

Soulmates. Fucking _soulmates_. Rook went his whole life thinking his just wasn’t out there. He wasn’t going to find them. Made up for it, lived his life in contact with beloved friends and family and ignored the hunger inside of him. And the other half of his soul was a twisted, sociopathic cult Herald?

If there is a God, Rook would like to lodge a few complaints.

John rounds on him once Joseph’s out of view, brows down low, voice a snap like he’s trying to re-assert himself. But Rook’s not afraid anymore. John isn’t going to do a thing to him, even if he’s Blissed and not even able to stand on his own. Not when Joseph has given him direct orders. Not when there are still Peggies around, staring at him like he’s something more than what he is.

“You will be taken home. You will be cleansed and fed. You will detox from the Bliss in your veins. And then we shall see if you’re worthy of me.”

“Y’don’t get a choice.” Rook slurs, “m’your soulmate. Y’gotta be nice t’ me.”

His tongue feels too big. Awkward. But apparently John’s does too, because he just _stares_. Jaw hanging loose, lips parted, eyes wide like he can’t believe Rook’s being a little shit even now.

Surprise, soulmate. Rook’s not going to change just because some pre-destined fate said they had to spend eternity together. 

.O.

John’s ranch is everything Rook expected and then some. It’s clean and well-kept, filled with high-end furniture and decor that screams taste and wealth. Rook had considered taking it, before he’d decided to blow up John’s stupid sign. But he’d thought the sign would be more of an insult--and it was, going by how John had snarled down the radio at him--and put the ranch off for another day.

Probably a good thing. He imagines this would all be much worse if John had had to take him down to his bunker or somewhere else.

Not that it’s great right now. He’s settled on the couch, watching John pace back and forth in front of the fire that he can’t stare at for too long. The Bliss is still in his veins, coursing through, edging the world in softness and mania if he doesn’t keep himself in the moment. And it’s hard to focus right now.

The world is so _colorful_. He’d heard people mention it before, when they’d found their soulmates, exclaim it in a soft breathy sort of way. He can’t quite look away from the blue of John’s shirt, the deep brown of the couch underneath him. Even the stains on his jeans are fascinating in a way, the green of grass on his knees, the dried brown of blood.

He knows, distantly and in the back of his mind, he’s in shock. Panicking. He can feel the tension in his veins, a subtle tremor all over if he tries to focus himself on being still. His soulmate is John Seed, scourge of the Holland Valley and Herald of a doomsday cult that’s ripping the county apart. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

“They told me you didn’t exist.” John’s voice finally pulls him from his musing, low and aching, like he’s tearing open a wound just by talking. “They said--said I was _wrong_. Sinful. That God had left me without a soulmate because I wasn’t good enough.”

“Nobody doesn't have a soulmate.”

Words are hard. Rook swallows thickly, tries again when John stops in place and regards him with a imperiously arched brow.

“They were wrong. You have me and I have you. Everybody has somebody. Y’were just...maybe too young to know better?”

“Did you know I was out there?” John takes a step closer and the expression on his face is like nothing Rook’s ever seen before. A little lost, hopeful, but so carefully guarded Rook knows he’ll get his hand bit if he tries to reach out. 

“I felt...something. Didn’t know. But figured we just...wouldn’t meet. Too far apart.”

Rook’s heard of it happening. There are people whose soulmates aren’t so close, stories and legends of people crossing oceans and miles and miles of land. Of finding their soulmates on vacation to other countries. People who don’t find them at all because there’s simply too much distance and not enough guidance.

Everyone has a soulmate. But not everyone _finds_ their soulmate.

John considers him carefully, like he’s seeing something change that Rook can’t, but he shakes his head and doesn’t pursue the topic further.

“You’re still Blissed. Come. We’ll cleanse you.”

“Are y’gonna try and drown me again?”

“I’m tempted.” John grits out through his teeth, crossing the distance to yank him to his feet with not-so-gentle hands.

Well. _That_ helps the panic. Rook tries to move on his own but winds up leaning on John more heavily than he wants, limps refusing to cooperate, nearly locking up with the anxiety that’s washing over his brain in waves. He’s nauseous and scared and so off balance it’s only John at his side that’s keeping him upright at the moment. 

“I can’t _believe_ you’re the one who’s been causing this much chaos. You look like a breeze could blow you down.”

“Or a big, bad wolf.” Rook murmurs softly, thinking idly of red rooms and a music box and painpainpain. 

John’s face does something curious then. Freezes, seems to lose a touch of color. He clears his throat, guides Rook through the bedroom doors and inside with gentler hands than what held him only moments before.

“He won’t take you again,” John says quietly, pulling Rook to a stop, decidedly not meeting his gaze as he starts to remove the still sodden layers of clothing. “I won’t allow it. Not now that we know you’re mine.”

“I don’t belong to you.”

“You do. God has willed it so.”

“I don’t...believe,” Rook admits softly, wincing when John simply stares at him, dropping his shirt to the side.

He feels too exposed, like a nerve twanged the wrong way and still reverberating pain. John’s dressed, a bit wet around his knees and dots of water against his vest--probably from dunking Rook under in the most violent baptism he’s ever been a part of. But Rook’s down to just his briefs and he grabs for the waistband when John slips his fingers under, unwilling to lose that too.

“I am not going to hurt you.”

“You did, though.” Rook can’t help but point out, brain misfiring, something inside urging him to trust John, trust his _soulmate_ , while the rational part screeches at him to get away.

John scowls, opens his mouth with just a few too many teeth showing, but reigns it in before he snaps. Before he starts the lecture on sin and distrust that Rook expects. He’s not sure if the barest hint of affection in John’s eyes is from Joseph’s orders or if it’s organic, like he actually has a heart under all that pain and malice. 

“I was...misled. I let my sin get the better of me. I’m not above you all, not immune to the sins of man.”

Rook uncurls his fingers, mostly from the shock that John Seed is willing to admit he’s just as human as the rest of them. John draws his briefs down, kneeling before him, and Rook doesn’t brace a hand on his shoulder when he steps out of them but it’s a near thing. He contains himself, still wary, a dog that’s been kicked too many times not to flinch away from even the gentlest of hands. 

John doesn’t seem offended, if he’s even noticed. Just turns and leads Rook into the bathroom set just off the bedroom. It’s bright, colors exploding around him from various bottles in the massive shower stall to the products lined up neatly on the sink. Rook didn’t know they could be so _bright_. It’s almost too much and the barest hint of a headache pounds in the base of his skull, threatening to overwhelm.

Bonding headaches. He’d read about them before, but he didn’t think he’d ever have to deal with one.

He does now. Because he found his soulmate. 

Rook’s knees shake and he barely manages to claw at John’s shoulder, spinning him around from where he’d been starting the shower spray, before they go out completely. John catches him, though not quite in time to stop him from banging into the vanity, arms around his ribs to yolk him upright. 

“You are--you don’t react well to the Bliss, do you?”

“No,” Rook admits softly, fingers digging into John’s shoulder and bicep to try and keep himself upright. “I guess I don’t.”

He’s not about to admit it’s shock. Not to John, who can already probably smell the weakness on him. This changes _everything_ and Rook can’t seem to find level ground in this new world he’s living in. The Bliss certainly doesn’t help, still sparkling at the edges of his vision, a pale green as opposed to the grey he always thought it was. 

It’s a good enough excuse and one John buys, if the furrow between his brows and the frown that curves his lips is any indication.

“You won’t be able to shower alone. I’m not having you pass out in there and crack your head open.”

“Didn’t figure you’d let me anyhow.”

John sets him against the vanity, steps back and seems to swell from the inside as he draws in a breath so deeply it steals the air from the room.

“I am not--you’re not a prisoner here. This is your home now. It may take some time to adjust--I imagine both of us need that time--but you are not trapped here. You can shower on your own and eat and do as you please without constantly looking over your shoulder for me.”

“Because Joseph said you had to love me?”

He needs to know. Needs to know if John’s being kept in check just by the command from his brother, his Father, or if he genuinely doesn’t want to hurt him anymore. One is weak protection, will have him carving out weapons and spaces to hide, escape routes if he needs.

The other...the other might offer a better life than Rook imagined he’d have in Hope County. Cult Herald or not, John clearly takes care of what is his. And Rook can’t deny that there’s a temptation in the offerings of the house, the protection, the _wealth_ that hangs from John like a well-fitted coat.

And if he can bend John’s ear...make life a little less hellacious for the people of the Valley…

He knows John is devoted to the Father, to the Project. But there’s something in his eyes, something he hides well but that shines through on occasions like now, when he’s carefully setting his clothes into a hamper and sneaking looks at Rook, like he expects to find judgment or scorn in his eyes at the sight of him naked, that tells him he might have a chance. 

“I promise not to elbow you. Or steal all the hot water.” Rook goes for levity, sees the corners of John’s mouth tick up as he ushers him inside, closing the stall door and trapping them into the warmth together.

Rook can’t bite back the moan at the feel of hot water for the first time in a long time, pounding down over his shoulders and head. It makes his knees weak again, though that’s more from sheer relief from the aches and pains that have plagued him since this whole thing started. John’s right there, pressed up against his back, hands catching at the waist to keep him on his feet.

“Fair warning,” Rook says, spinning in place to avoid a mouthful of water and tipping his head back. “I’m going to pass out when we get out of here. Not, like, violently or anything. But I’m going to be exhausted.”

“My bed is already made.” John shrugs, reaches over to spin the top off a container that smells like citrus and melon. “Just don’t snore. Or I’ll make you sleep on the porch.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to do to your soulmate.”

Maybe if Rook says it enough, reminds them both of it, he’ll stop stuttering over the word. 

John doesn’t respond but he’s gentle. Which is nice because between the nerves and the exhaustion and the headaches that’s now pounding behind both eyes, Rook’s all but useless. John scrubs his hair clean, carefully washes him down with something that smells like pine. He’s respectful but there’s a drag of fingertips after the pouf, tracing soap-covered skin. 

Questioning, maybe. Testing the limits of what Rook will allow. And he allows most of it, only murmuring out a “careful” when John’s fingers slide slick over his inner thighs. John respects the boundaries, moving to scrub at his calves and hip, but there’s something dark in his eyes when he glances up.

Something that matches the LUST that’s carved, still red and angry but old, scabbed over, across his stomach.

He might fuck him, one day. John isn’t unattractive, despite the sociopathic tendencies and the need to drag confessions out of people by force. In another life, Rook might’ve actively pursued him, soulmate or not. 

But this is the life he has and he tries to keep his gaze from wandering too much, thankful his body is too exhausted to even consider the possibility of an erection.

John is thorough and, despite that, quick. Rook’s scrubbed clean and feeling miles better faster than he can consider it. And, despite his disbelief in ‘cleansing’ or any of the other cult shit, the Bliss is fading from his vision and veins, leaving him weak but clear. John doesn’t waste any time on himself, though he seems to be doing the bare minimum, probably because Rook’s swaying on his feet.

Rook lets himself be guided out, frowning when John shuts the water off and grimacing when John takes notice, muttering out an amused “you live here now, you can shower again whenever you like.” He’s wrapped in a fluffy towel, John seemingly content that he can dry himself off as he slides a door open and disappears into a walk-in closet. 

He can’t help but peek inside, rolling his eyes at the number of shirts and vests and shoes neatly set in lines. John might proclaim to be a man of God, but he’s certainly a far cry from the faithful who dress in simple shirts and pants, shunning all flashier outfits. But he doesn’t get a chance to tease, to poke at John’s rejection of a simple lifestyle, because he emerges with an armful of soft looking fabric.

“I had wanted to get you fed. But you look like you might die if you don’t sleep soon.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to,” Rook admits softly, accepting the shirt and pants John hands over and slipping them on, careful to keep his towel in place for cover until the last second. 

He nearly falls over trying to put his pants on and John sighs, hitches his towel high around his waist and pushes him backward out of the bathroom. 

“Yes, you’re fully functional and utterly awake, as I can see. Get into bed.”

“I don’t sleep well. I have--” Rook gestures lamely to his head, sees John’s eyes go sharp and considering. “Nightmares, y’know.”

“Then we’ll make quite the pair.”

Well. He’s not touching _that_ with a ten foot pole. 

Rook slides between the sheets, body instantly melting into the softness of the mattress. He’s getting the pillow wet, hair not quite dry, but it doesn’t even matter because it folds around his head just right and Rook might just happily die in this bed if that’s what it comes down to. John seems pleased, watching him carefully, before the towel drops and Rook scrambles backward when he lifts the blankets.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve had a long day too. I’m going to rest.”

“You don’t have any clothes on.”

“There’s those keen Deputy eyes.” John rolls his, gets under the blankets despite Rook’s affronted noises. “I don’t wear clothes to bed. You can adjust--or you can find another place to sleep.”

Rook protectively cuddles his pillow closer, like John might take it away. He’s not wholly comfortable with the idea of sleeping next to a naked John Seed but...he loves this bed. And John _is_ his soulmate. Sex will come eventually, he’s sure.

Not to mention, he really doesn’t have much to fear in terms of John murdering him in his sleep. Once they’re linked, so legend goes, soulmates need each other to survive. Killing one is tantamount to removing a limb, crippling in many ways. No one, not even an insane cult member, would willingly put themselves into that sort of agony.

But it doesn’t mean Rook doesn’t scoot until he’s pressed up against the wall, back flush to the wood. John huffs at him, but doesn’t force the issue. He does, however, reach out and capture Rook’s arm, pulling it to his chest like a teddy bear and curling around it.

Which is...almost sweet? Maybe? Jesus, what’s he gotten himself into?

“If you stare at me the whole night,” John says idly, eyes closed and head buried in his own pillow, “I will stab you.”

Alright. _There’s_ the John he’s come to know.

“You have to love me, John.” Rook reminds him around a yawn, unable to resist being petulantly childish when he’s weak and tired and still freaked out because he’s in John Seed’s _bed_.

John’s eyes pop open, ice blue, _electric_ blue just like the air between them. He stares Rook down, seems to be weighing his words carefully. 

“I will. But you have to love me too.”

Rook doesn’t have a response to that. Isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. It seems impossible after all John’s done to him, after all the pain and suffering he’s wrought onto the valley. 

He decides to let the words fall where they are, leave that problem--that glaring huge problem--for another day.

“You can’t kill me for blowing up your sign now.”

“No.” John snuggles deeper into his pillow, lets his eyes close with something close to a smile on his lips. “I think, instead, I’ll put you in charge of building the new one. A fitting task for my soulmate, giving me back something that was taken from me.”

“I’m not building your stupid sign.”

“And _I_ am not having this conversation with you, Rook. Sleep. Rest. You’ll need it.”

Rook complies, albeit reluctantly. His body isn’t going to allow him to do anything else, exhaustion winning out over the panic that’s still there. His own personal collapse. Tomorrow is full of uncertainties, full of new experiences, new colors. A whole new world on the other side of a good night’s sleep.

He just hopes it’s better than the world he woke up to today.


	3. Jacob's Plans

Everything _hurts_. And not in the way Rook’s used to hurting as of late. Sharp pain that eventually fades, localized to wherever he’d gotten injured last. He’s achy all over, like he’s coming out of a bad bout of the flu and his body hasn’t recovered from using all its energy to keep him alive. His head is pounding and he feels a bit sick to his stomach and there’s the telltale numbness to his limbs that tells him he’s been Blissed. 

He’s also tied to a chair. Which is extremely concerning but, to be fair, he’s not sure his legs would support his weight right now. So while being tied down isn’t exactly fun, the whole “not standing” thing isn’t too bad. 

Pratt looks _awful_ once Rook’s eyes clear enough that he can see him in the darkness. He’d assumed it wasn’t like a spa day up in the mountains, but the reality makes the nausea swirl around until he’s gritting his teeth to fight the gag. Staci’s nothing like the smirking Deputy who shoved his fork into Rook’s lunch months back and told him Probie property was public property. He’s gentle as he tests the restraints, makes sure Rook’s secured, but his face and voice are panicked.

“You shouldn’t have come for me. You should have run.”

Admittedly, the thought crossed his mind. But he wasn’t exactly given the chance. 

He remembers barely getting into Jacob’s region, looking over his shoulder at the oppressing “weird” that the region leaked like an over-turned Bliss barrel. He’d just freed Cheeseburger, who is by and far the oddest of his companions--and yes, he’s counting Sharky in that list--when his radio had gone off.

“There’s someone out there _pretending_ to be a soldier. I want this coward to know they have my attention. My hunters are coming for you.”

Dutch had tried to warn him. Told him to grab Cheeseburger and get the hell to safety as quick as he could. But Jacob’s “hunters” were good and they were _fast_. Rook had barely had time to shoo Cheeseburger into the trees when he’d heard the sound of quads approaching before there was a whoosh that cut the air and the thunk of an arrow making contact.

After that, the world is painted white with Bliss and black with pain. 

And now he’s here. Wherever the hell _here_ is. He’d been warned Jacob was the worst of the siblings to deal with, the one that he needed to be the most careful about. He’d have known it even without Dutch lecturing him, something low in his stomach swooping and clenching up tight when he spotted the picture of a scarred older man pinned to Dutch’s corkboard of info. 

Rook has never listened well and he’s also never regretted that particular downfall of his more than in this very moment. 

“I couldn’t just leave you.” He whispers back, Pratt’s eyes--ringed in bruises from punches or lack of sleep, Rook can’t quite tell in the darkness--go wide.

“You're gonna wish you had.”

He hears the footsteps before the other two people in the room with him do, heavy thuds that have him going silent, dropping his chin to his chest to feign unconsciousness as Pratt darts away. But it becomes evident the moment they know what he knows, high pitched whimpers and cries for mercy. 

Rook knows there’s no mercy here. Pratt’s battered face was proof enough of that.

“The world is _weak_.”

Oh, god. Oh _fuck_.

Jacob is talking, in front of the flashes of light--a slideshow, the images of which are a menagerie of vicious and obscene--but Rook can’t focus. Can’t hear over the rush in his ears. He knows those words. Has traced them over and over on his wrist, wondering what type of person his soulmate could be that _that_ phrase was the first thing they said to him. 

He’d wanted so badly as a child to find out. Now? He wishes he was just kept ignorant his whole life. Been one of the few who just never found their soulmate.

Jacob’s advancing on him, he can see the way his boots move in close. Rook gives up the ghost, tips his head up to meet Jacob’s gaze as he pulls him in close. The chair screeches across the floor, a harsh sound that makes him wince. 

“We _will_ cull the herd. We will do what needs to be done.”

Jacob straightens, picks up a small box from the table and turns the crank on the side. It’s do or die now, Rook doesn’t want to know what comes after that box opens. He doesn’t have a choice, he has to do _something_. His lips part, cracked and dry, and his voice is little more than a harsh whisper, a pitiful sounding moan that grates on his ears.

“Why did it have to be you?”

The air goes still. Everything stops. Jacob stops moving, Rook almost thinks the pictures slow in their little macabre slideshow. The music box is set down gently, clicking against the table as Jacob leans down once more. Gets right up in his face, so close Rook can smell the blood and gunpowder scent of him, eyes wide and jaw slack. Rook can see the black curling letters if he glances down, written on the inside of Jacob’s wrist and a direct mirror of what just came out of his mouth.

“What did you just say?”

“You know what I said.” Rook breathes, can’t raise his voice, feels it trapped just behind a scream in his throat. “You’ve probably read it enough times. Just like I have.”

Jacob grits his teeth. Rook can see the wheels turning in his mind, decisions cast aside in favor of other choices. Skipping through the possible outcomes just like he is. Jacob might just kill him here and now. Get rid of something so _weak_ as a soulmate that could be used against him. That _has_ been railing against him since Rook woke up upside down in a helicopter crash. 

He doesn’t know if that’s the outcome he’d prefer. Doesn’t know what the other possibilities might be. 

“Change of plans.” Jacob straightens, slides the knife on his thigh free so quick it makes Rook’s heart stutter. “Pratt, get rid of the others.”

“S-Sir?”

“We both know they weren’t going to make it. Dispose of them.” Jacob leans down, cuts away his bonds.

Rook should run. Should do something other than stare blankly up at Jacob as he re-sheathes his knife and reaches for him. But he doesn’t. Can’t. Feels frozen in place as Jacob pulls him to his feet, easily taking the deadweight when Rook’s legs refuse to allow him to stand. 

He’s half carried, half dragged from the room, wincing at the sounds of gunshots from within. 

“You didn’t have to--”

“They were weak, sweetheart. Better to cut the pain short than to have them try and fail.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” 

“In the Whitetails I do. This land is mine now, my territory. _Our_ \--” Jacob catches himself but Rook can finish that sentence easily enough even as disoriented as he feels. 

Our territory. He and Jacob as one. Soulmates acting as a unit as opposed to the two separate people they’ve been their whole lives.

“I’m not going to torture people.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t have the stomach for it. Leave that part to me.”

Alright. What the fuck?

“What are you doing?” Rook knows it’s a mistake but he pushes away anyhow, stumbles and falls when Jacob lets him go, slides down the hallway wall onto his butt. 

Jacob stares down at him like he’s a child throwing a tantrum, arms crossed, focused despite the distant screaming and crying Rook can hear from the other rooms. He doesn’t make any moves to pull Rook to his feet, doesn’t even reach for him. Seems content to just let this play out.

“Why? You bring me here for what? Torture? And now suddenly because you know I’m your soulmate it’s “our territory” and “leave the ugly parts to me.” What the fuck is going on?”

Rook pushes backward, flattens himself against the wall when Jacob goes down onto his haunches in front of him. Crouches before him but not over him, leveling the playing field and making Rook’s head spin. This isn’t the same Jacob that preached about weakness and culling the herd. This man, with his gentle eyes and precise care not to threaten or loom, is like a whole new person.

The change is making his head spin. 

“Do you know what it’s like to see that on your wrist? Every single day. Knowing my soulmate’s first words to me were despair? Hoping and praying I wasn’t the one for them?” Jacob laughs and there’s no happiness there, a hollow, carved out sound. “Do you know what that did to a kid who didn’t even have those words show up until I was damn near grown? First I didn’t think I had a soulmate and then, when I wake up to pain and look at my wrist blissfully happy for the first time in my life, I see that?”

“T-That’s not my fault.”

Jacob sucks his teeth.

“It’s not. I don’t blame you. Your little Resistance has poisoned you. Made you weak, turned you away from the future Joseph is trying to build.”

“You don’t give a shit about Joseph’s future.” Rook’s spitting mad, looking for every soft part of Jacob that exists to sink his teeth into. “You just want an excuse to torture and kill people as you please.”

“You’re right.”

It’s so astonishing, so disorienting, that Rook allows Jacob to pull him to his feet. Tuck him under one strong arm and continue forth like their little moment in the hall had never happened. He stares blankly ahead, trying to process, as Jacob leads him down the stairs, out the front door, past stunned looking Peggies who rush to put keys in Jacob's hand when he brings them to a stop near a truck.

Rook allows himself to be settled into the passenger seat, staring out the windshield at the whispering groups of Peggies as Jacob slides behind the wheel. It’s not until they’re out on the road, heading God only knows where, that he manages to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and speak.

“How am I right?”

“I don’t care about Joseph’s future.” An admission as easy as breathing, despite how shocking it is. “I don’t know if he talks to God. Doesn’t matter, in the end. He told me I’d find my purpose here and I did. I found _you_. Whatever comes after this...it doesn’t matter. Whatever future lies ahead for the Project pales in comparison to _our_ future.”

“Why are you doing this?”

Jacob, to his credit, doesn’t ask him to clarify. Doesn’t even bother playing dumb. Simply guides them off the main road and onto a winding mountain path with a low hum, like he’s trying to choose his words.

“I joined the Army when I was 18. Soon as I could, barely woke up that day and went straight to the enlistment center. I didn’t have anything left here for me, lost track of John and Joseph in foster care when we all got split up. It wasn’t my first choice, but I had a plan. Soldiers don’t make great money but they made enough, more than I ever grew up with. I figured I’d go in, save up, make something of myself.”

He sighs and glances over and Rook can’t help but meet his eyes. There’s something abhorrently sad there, like Jacob is cracking open inside. He knows the Seeds didn’t have a great life, has heard rumors and read little snippets from the Book of Joseph when he finds them scattered about. 

“I tried so fucking hard. To make sure that my soulmate wasn’t going to look at me and wish it wasn’t me. Tried to be good enough. Spent nights dreamin’ of how I might change their mind. Make them happy they had me instead of miserable about it.”

That laugh again, broken and shattered just like Rook feels right now.

“Sure fucked that one up, huh?”

“That doesn’t explain--”

“I’ve had _decades_ to come to terms with exactly what I’m willing to do to keep my soulmate. Thought up plan after plan. Soulmates are the absolute, they make someone whole, make them better, _stronger_ than what they are. I have to be strong and being with you will make me strong. So I’m going to do everything I need to do to keep you around.”

“I can’t be with someone who kills people,” Rook says quietly, wraps his arms around himself. “I _can’t_. I was a medic and I helped people and I can’t--I can’t.”

“I don’t kill them. They are tested and if they fail, there are consequences. But you don’t have to see it. I’ll keep you away from it all if that’s what you want.”

Rook stares at him, a bit aghast. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. It’s not _better_ but he’s not sure, even if he explains that, that Jacob will understand. He’s so far gone in Joseph’s rhetoric that he’s untouchable by sanity. By reason. The preachings mixed in with Jacob’s own almost obsessive need to keep him? To find his soulmate and prove to them he’s worth sticking around for? It’s terrifying.

But this is his soulmate and Jacob just openly admitted he’d go to some extreme lengths to keep Rook satisfied…

“Why do they have to be tested? Fuck Joseph’s prophecy and everything else. Why do you think they have to be tortured and tested and killed if they fail?”

“Look around you, sweetheart. This world is on the brink. It’s getting ready to collapse under us and if we want to survive, we have to be _strong_. Even if Joseph is wrong, even if there isn’t some Biblical end of times coming, a war still is. War of some sort or another. And we can withstand it if we are prepared, if we are strong.”

“Do you think I was going to be strong? Were you going to see if I was strong?”

“I was.” Jacob does him the courtesy of not lying, which is nice, but the admission is still horrifying. “I don’t know. A part of me wants to think, because you’re mine, you’d be strong. But it doesn’t matter now.”

Rook watches the truck come to a stop in front of a massive, looming center. He’d noticed they were riding up more carefully paved roads, better taken care of, even clocked them passing through wrought iron gates. He didn’t know where they were going, though, and he’s not surprised at all to find himself at the Hope County Veterans Center. 

It fits Jacob. And that’s somewhat heart-breaking too.

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because you’re mine. You don’t have to be strong, because I am. And I’ll protect you.”

.O.

Jacob Seed is many things. A scarred soldier, a fearsome leader, and, as Rook finds out, a man of his word. He isn’t a prisoner at the Veterans Center, though it’s been made clear Jacob doesn’t want him to leave. Rook’s permitted to wander as he pleases, sometimes mingling with the Peggies--who watch their words carefully, like any stray phrase could earn them a bullet through the head--and sometimes just wandering the halls.

The only place Jacob has expressly forbidden him from going is near the cages Rook had stared numbly at when they’d first entered. That’s where Jacob keeps those undergoing their “trials”. The people inside had shouted at him when he’d first passed, some begging for mercy and others cursing his very existence, asking if he turned against the resistance for a quick fuck.

He’s very aware that everyone who said a cross word didn’t “pass” their tests.

Rook wouldn’t say he’s necessarily happy here but he’s not miserable. Jacob makes sure he’s fed and clothed and always has an offer on the tip of his tongue. He gave him a dog, for fuck's sake.

Alright, to be fair, it was a wolf pup. One whose mother was turned into a Judge. But he’s sweet and he listens to Rook and sleeps at the foot of the bed with them. Rook quietly named him Sargeant after finding out Jacob’s rank in the army and ignored the warmth in his chest at Jacob’s please little smile. 

It’s strange to be soulmates with a man like Jacob. Rook knows he’s harsh with others, snappish and firm. But there isn’t a touch of that when he’s with Rook, even if they’re around others. Even in the mess hall, where the other soldiers and hunters are gathered, Jacob’s words are soft and littered with endearments.

He’s Jacob’s ‘sweetheart’ and his ‘honey’ and everything soft and juxtaposed with Jacob’s scarred and fierce demeanor.

Even the demands he does make of Rook aren’t terrible. Don’t interfere with the Project’s plans, don’t go near the cages, don’t try to escape. Simple enough rules to follow, even if they occasionally make Rook feel like screaming. The only other things he asks, he doesn’t even truly ask. Just invades Rook’s space, tucks him up under his arm or slides into bed behind him. 

He’d be lying if he said the constant human contact isn’t what’s keeping him from going completely mad. And it’s not a terrible experience. Jacob touches him with something akin to worship, hands only rough on nights where the demons are too close to the surface, burning in his eyes. He hasn’t pushed for more than the touch of Rook’s hand, kisses that leave Rook dazed.

But there’s a promise that he will. Eventually. And, at this point, Rook’s not sure he’d turn him away. 

“Didn’t see you at dinner.” Jacob steps inside, kicks the door shut with his heel, and Rook isn’t surprised at all to see a heavily laden tray in his hands. 

“I need you to do something for me.” Rook turns away from where he’d been tucked under the desk, spinning in Jacob’s chair.

As expected, Jacob immediately sets the tray down on the edge of the desk--god, it smells good. Rook hasn’t eaten much today, distracted with his plans--and rounds to stand between his legs. Rook tips his head up for Jacob’s kiss, keeping it chaste and sweet, stroking careful hands down Jacob’s thighs.

He needs to go about this the right way. He doesn’t want to piss Jacob off or risk him thinking every attempt at seduction will be because Rook wants something.

“Anything, sweetheart.” Jacob murmurs as he draws back, head tipped consideringly. “Well. Within reason.”

“I want you to let Pratt go.”

He knew Jacob would be suspicious. Knew he wouldn’t agree instantly despite agreeing to nearly every request Rook’s made. He hums, sucks his teeth, settles his ass against the edge of the desk and folds his arms. 

“Why’s that? He’s safe here. Safer than he’d be with John or Faith.”

“I want you to let him go back to the Resistance. Let him go back home.”

“Why?”

He’s tempted to lie. Tell Jacob he’s jealous. But it won’t work, Jacob’s been too careful to clearly state Rook’s place here--which is above everyone else save for himself. Pratt’s mostly Jacob’s gopher, doing whatever he tells him, though occasionally Rook can pull him away from his duties for a shower or a bite to eat. It’s the least he can do for taking as long as it did to even get here in the first place.

But people are noticing. And Pratt’s avoiding him because “if he finds out you’re too nice, I don’t wanna know what he’ll do. You’ll get off easy...I won’t.”

“Because he’s my friend, Jacob. And he’s hurt and he doesn’t want to be here.”

“He’ll be stronger for it, though.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s strong, he’s dying inside.” Rook sees the crack in Jacob’s armor, pushes to his feet and moves into his space. “Jacob, he’s going to die before he’s as strong as you want him to be. As strong as you require that he be. I can’t stand by and let that happen.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Your soulmate happy with you?”

Jacob smiles and it’s a little crooked, a little broken. He sighs, shakes his head, reaches out to grab for Rook’s hips and pull him in close.

“This is the first thing you’ve ever actually asked me for and you’re pulling out all the stops, huh?”

“You don’t need Pratt,” Rook says in lieu of answering, winding his arms around Jacob’s neck. “You only took him because Joseph told you to. And you said you don’t believe in Joseph’s prophecies.” 

“You’re dangerously close to heresy, honey.”

“You couldn’t give a shit less.” Rook snorts. “Come on, Jacob. I’ve been good. I’ve _stayed_. And I’ll keep staying if you do this for me.”

“And then what happens next time? What’ll you ask for if I do this? Stop hunting the Whitetails, stop the trials? Defect from the Project?”

Rook’s tempted. He’s so tempted, just because Jacob seems so willing to bend for him. He never thought it’d be Jacob when he was learning about the siblings, always figured if anyone would defect it would be John. But a part of him thinks he might actually be able to convince Jacob to do it if he tried hard enough.

And, going by the darkness in Jacob’s eyes and the carefully blank mask of his face, he knows it. 

“Right now, I’m not thinking about what you can do for me in the future. I’m thinking about what I want you to do this very second.”

“You’re going to make me weak,” Jacob says softly, so quietly Rook almost can’t hear him.

But he does and it cracks him in half, makes him grip Jacob’s jacket--the same jacket Jacob slings around his shoulders on nighttime walks, the one he drapes over Rook when he falls asleep at the desk. 

“Fair’s fair, right? You said I didn’t need to be strong because you would be strong. And now I’m telling you that _you_ don’t need to be strong all the time. I can be strong for you too.”

“Joseph won’t be pleased.” Jacob lifts his hands, grinds his palms into his eyes, but it’s a paltry protest at best.

Rook already knows he’s won. 

“Don’t worry about him. If he finds out, he finds out. Blame it on me if you want.” Rook pushes up onto the balls of his feet, nudges in between Jacob’s hands to drag him into a kiss. 

It heats up far too fast, Jacob turning to lift Rook onto the desk, slipping between his thighs as easy as breathing. His hands are hard, fingers biting in, clutching Rook to him like he thinks he’ll slip away if he lets go. Rook has to pull back, panting, hands pressed flat to Jacob's chest to keep him from leaning in again.

“Jacob. Pratt?”

“Fucking persistent.” Jacob snaps, but there’s no heat save for the burning need in his eyes. “Fine. I’ll have him dropped off later tonight. But I’m leaving him in the forest, sweetheart. If he finds his way home, he finds his way home.”

“You need to tell him he’s free to go.” Rook shakes his head. “He’s terrified. He’ll just think it’s another test if you don’t tell him.”

“Too smart for your own good.” Jacob grouses, but he nods, hand and gaze dropping to Rook’s forearm. 

Jacob pulls it between them, pushes back the sleeve of Rook’s shirt to thumb over the letters written there. The same letters Rook had stared at in wonder and horror all his life. The words that now brought him less of a dawning sense of terror and more of a feeling of distant protection.

_”The world is weak.”_

_But I am not._

“You’re going to kill me,” Jacob says softly, eyes drifting closed when Rook brushes a kiss over his forehead. 

“No,” he says softly, thinking of all Jacob’s done for him, for the future they might have if he continues to do more. “I’m not going to kill you, Jacob Seed. If I can, if I have any strength left at all? I’m going to _save_ you.”


	4. Rook's Decision (Or Lack Thereof)

So, admittedly, Rook has not handled this situation with the greatest of mature reactions. In his defense, though, he didn’t put a bullet in his head or beg on his hands and knees for any pilot around to fly him straight back home non-stop. He did what literally any sane person would do when they found out that the three biggest leaders of a militaristic doomsday cult were their soulmates.

He ran.

Tucked his tail between his legs and bolted. And Rook isn’t even the slightest bit ashamed because nothing, _nothing_ in his life could have prepared him for that. There was no other feasibly understandable reaction.

Everything had been going so--well, not _good_. Rook would never have described anything involved with the Marshal’s stupid arrest plan as good. But it wasn’t going up in flames. Joseph Seed had sent away his protection detail, murmured a few insanely cryptic warnings about God not allowing him to be taken, and extended his hands, seemingly accepting his arrest. Rook should have kept his eyes on Joseph. Shouldn’t have glanced down at his hands, at his wrists.

He might not have hesitated if he had. Might have just been able to slap the cuffs on without thinking about it. But he _did_ and that’s around the time everything went sideways. 

Because on Joseph Seed’s wrist, on the delicate, thin skin of the inside, were soulmate marks. Unobtrusive, written in the same script as everyone else in the world. Just two letters, initials of the person that Joseph Seed was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. 

Initials that happened to be the same as Rook’s. 

He’d paused for a split second, just enough for Joseph to squint at him, eyes narrowed behind those yellow lenses. Rook had twitched, hands recoiling for a moment, and that was long enough for Joseph to snap a hand out like a striking cobra. Latch onto his wrist with one hand and shove his sleeve back. 

Honestly, Rook hadn’t made the connection. Because who would? Who would hear a cult leaders name and take notice of the initials enough to wonder? Rook’s achingly familiar with the J. S. on his wrist, it’s been there since he was a child. Since birth, actually. He knew his soulmate was older, even just by a month or so, since he came into the world with the marks already there.

But this is...he’d never thought…

Except, because Rook’s life is never easy, it hadn’t been the end of it. He’d stared Joseph down, frozen in place as the Marshal demanded to know what was going on and the Sheriff murmured something pitying and heartbroken at his side. Rook had been vaguely aware of the Marshal reaching for his gun, backing up as the other two Seed brothers moved in. 

“He has come to us.” Joseph had murmured, soft and just as threatening as when he was all but screaming his preachings to the Heavens. 

Rook had held it together until he’d seen John Seed reach and hold his own wrist with something close to hope on his slack expression. Until his eyes had darted over to watch Jacob Seed rub the inside of his wrist against his side, like it was a nervous tick. 

And then he’d run. Yanked free of Joseph’s hold and all but bolted through the church doors, spilling out into the compound and barely registering Hudson’s startled yelp when he flew past her. Didn’t stop even when the Peggies started shouting, moving back out of his way seemingly on instinct before moving to chase after him. 

He’d busted through the gates and onto the main road, heart pounding in his ears and throat. Hot-wiring a car wasn’t the easiest thing he’d ever done, but he managed to get the engine roaring just as he started hearing the pursuing Peggies get closer. Pressed the pedal to the floor and nearly crashed just trying to get away as the car sped off in the direction of “not fucking here.”

Which is how he wound up in his new home away from home; holed up in the Hope County Jail. Mostly because it was in Faith’s region--and a quick, almost delirious questioning of anyone close enough to ask had told him the initials on her wrist were TL and nothing close to RW--and partially because...well...it was pretty heavily defended. And getting in was just as difficult as getting out. 

Supposedly.

“Uh...Rook? They’re back.”

“Please just kill me.”

Dr. Lindsey looks a bit panicked, like he thinks Rook’s request is legitimate. He shifts on his feet, playing with the end of his stethoscope nervously. 

“The Sheriff wants to know what you want us to do with all the...stuff.”

“Please tell me they didn’t bring more stuff.”

Dr. Lindsey winces and that’s answer enough for Rook to groan and bury deeper into the blanket he has wrapped around him. He’s in a far back room, what was once a break room, he thinks. Hidden here because it’s far enough away from the front gates that he can’t hear the Peggies shouting. 

He’d expected the brothers to send Peggies after him. But he’d thought he’d been fending off kidnapping attempts, not _gifts_. Each brother has sent him something, from the thoughtful thick coat with a pinned note reminding Rook it was going to be getting cold soon from Jacob to John’s ostentatious hunk of money that was passed to him with a folded note telling him to buy nicer clothes. 

Joseph had sent his bible which was expected. And also made for good kindling. 

“They’re kinda...not leaving. They’re just lingering.” Dr. Lindsey looks more and more uncomfortable as the words pass his lips and Rook hauls himself out of a bed with a sigh. 

He doesn’t leave his blanket behind as he tromps through the door and out into the small clinic area and then beyond because...well...it _is_ getting cold. But he’s not about to put the jacket on. He’d given it to a random resistance member who’d blinked owlishly but thanked him regardless.

They probably wouldn’t have thanked him if they knew where it came from, but Rook still felt good about his charity. 

The Sheriff is up on the wall when Rook emerges, squinting up into the sun. He’s got a hand on his hip but his service weapon is still holstered for the moment. 

“Rook, thought you might just stay inside.”

“Lindsey says they aren’t leaving!” Rook calls up to him, before wincing when his voice seems to set the Peggies beyond the wall off. 

He ignores the calls, the pleads, as he carefully climbs the ladder, the edge of his blanket caught between his teeth to keep it from unraveling. Tracey snorts upon seeing him, grabbing hold to yank him over the top and onto the wall, before hooking a thumb over her shoulder.

“You just say the word and we’ll blow these fuckers to kingdom come.”

Rook frowns. The Peggies are persistent and annoying but, for the most part, non-violent. Most of them don’t even carry weapons, bringing gifts instead. He gets the impression they’ve all been sent to plead their Herald’s case, urge him to choose one over the others. 

The thought makes something clench unpleasant in his belly. But Rook shoves it away to shake his head, brushing off her words and edging closer until he can peer down over the wall. 

It’s mostly a new batch, from the looks of it. He only sees one or two that he’s seen before--not that he’s totally sure about that. Peggies all have the same wild and slightly unhinged look to them--though the ones that come bearing gifts usually tend to be somewhat more contained and nicely dressed than the random ones he’d seen roaming about when he arrived at Hope County. 

“Go away!” He shouts over their pleas and explanations, hitching his blanket higher over his shoulders. “I don’t want any gifts and I’m not choosing your Herald. Tell them to shove their offerings up their asses.”

Some of them flinch, stepping back like they’re panicked they might actually have to bring that proclamation to whoever is in charge of their region. A few don’t, only increasing their explanations of why he should choose their particular Herald.

Honestly, he’d thought the Peggies would all be supporting Joseph, being the Father and all. But some, especially Jacob’s men, seem to have a loyalty to their Herald that surpasses the need to follow the man who started all of this bullshit. Rook catches sight of one with a radio to his mouth, a bit further in the back, and he narrows his eyes.

That one looks more familiar. Younger, closer to his own age. Black hair cut short, a small but somewhat neat beard on his face, dressed in the same cream sweater all of John’s men are dressed in. 

“Hey!” He points, shoves a finger in his direction, sees all the other Peggies stop and turn in place to find out which of them he’s acknowledging. “What’re you doing? Is that John? Tell him to stop sending me shit!”

The Peggie flinches, slowly raises the radio back to his mouth, and continues talking. Rook turns, satisfied he’s at least gotten a message back, and nearly runs into the Sheriff who’s been lingering over his shoulder. The man’s mouth is in a firm line, pressed tight, and his expression is stressed beneath the brim of his hat.

“I don’t wanna tell you what to do, Rook. And I ain’t about to throw my lot in with any of these fellas. But I’ve been listening to the radio, hearing reports come in from all over. You changed...quite a bit ‘round here.”

“Yeah?” Rook frowns, thinks of the few friends he’d managed to make before everything went to hell in Hope County. “Is everything okay?”

“For the most part. John’s loosening his control on the Valley, thinking maybe he’s hoping to convince you there. We’ve been getting reports from the Whitetails that Jacob’s not actively hunting them anymore, they haven’t had men go missing in a while. And Joseph Seed’s on the radio nearly every day, trying to hail you, going on and on about soulmates and how much better life can be once they’re with you.”

“That’s...good?”

Tracey snorts. 

“For now it is. But what if this doesn’t work for them? You think they’ll play nice forever? What happens when they stop being nice and start killing people--killing _more_ people--to try and get you out of hiding?”

Rook flinches, can’t help it. He’d thought about it, thought about his weaknesses, his allies stretched far and wide across the county. He tries to check in on them as often as he can, make sure they’re not being targeted. 

It hasn’t happened yet. But Tracey makes a good, if heart-breaking, point.

“Do I need to leave?” He asks quietly, already thinking of places he could hole up instead.

The Whitetails aren’t a bad option. Eli’s good at hiding, he’d probably be able to stash Rook away for a small while. Dutch isn’t a bad choice either, he’s been giving the cult the run-around and keeping them off his island for long enough that it gives Rook hope. 

But doing that might just bring the Peggies to their doorstep instead of the Jail. And those places aren't nearly as heavily defended as this one. 

“Not saying that, son.” The Sheriff reaches out, grips for his shoulder under the blanket, something softening in his expression. “Just saying you might wanna think about giving in a bit. Ain’t encouraging you to run off with any of them. But hiding isn’t gonna work forever.”

The words roll around in Rook’s head all night. He tosses and turns on the couch in his designated back room, waking every time to see Dr. Lindsey at the desk, peering back at him with something close to pity in his expression. The radio doesn’t help, cautiously switched on because he needs to know what’s going on, clearly can’t ignore it any longer.

John’s messages are cajoling and sweet and Joseph’s are just as lengthy, though there’s something almost threatening in them. Rook hates Jacob’s the most, though. The man doesn’t sleep, or at least doesn’t seem to, cracking the silence of the room at the oddest of late hours. He never says much, just talks about how he tried to find his soulmate everywhere and he’s pleased to find him and “take care of yourself, Deputy. The world is weak and it will chew you up and spit you out. Find yourself some safety.”

Rook knows damn good and well Jacob intends to provide that “safety” if at all possible.

It’s barely light by the time Rook pushes open the door to the outside the next morning, darkness still cast across the land as the sun fights to rise in the sky. He squints, sees the Peggies that have fallen asleep on the ground or in various vehicles that brought them here. 

The Peggie from yesterday, the one who he’d shouted at, is blinking at him from a few yards away. Eyes big like he can’t believe what he’s seeing is a reality. There’s a folded package in his arms, neatly wrapped, and he clutches it close to his chest before shoving it towards Rook the second he’s near enough.

“From Brother John, sir.”

“Yeah. I figured.” Rook keeps his voice low, unsurprised that the Peggie does the same.

Waking the others means competition. And all of the Peggies seem willing to compete against their “brothers and sisters” if it means being the one to bring Rook back to their respective Herald.

“What’s your name?”

“Peter, sir.”

“Alright, well, stop that.” Rook takes the package but doesn’t open it, noting how it squishes beneath his hold like whatever’s inside is soft and malleable. “Your real name. Not whatever bullshit name the cult gave you.”

“Uh,” the Peggie shifts his weight nervously, tugging at the hem of his sweater. “Peter is my name, sir. That’s what my parents named me.”

Oh. Well now Rook just feels like an asshole. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Three days now, sir. Brother John was insistent that we come back with you or not at all.”

Jesus Christ. What happens to compassion?

Rook takes note of the bruising around one of Peter’s eyes, the exhaustion that slumps his form and the streaks of dirt on his clothes. He’d thought the Peggies were civilized enough not to fight within themselves. 

“You get into it with the others?”

“Oh, no.” Peter’s hand lifts briefly, like he’s going to poke at the discoloration, before it drops with a wince. “The Resistance...takes offense to our being here. To our trying to convince you. We’ve run into some trouble with them.”

He flushes, hands up quick enough that Rook reels back, expecting to be grabbed.

“Which ain’t to say that it’s gonna stop us. Brother John has given us a task and our holy mission is to guide you to his side, to reunite you as soulmates should be reunited! We’d take a hundred bullets if it meant you were where God intended you to be.”

“That’s...horrifying,” Rook says, staring blankly. “Look, you don’t have to--you haven’t been causing any trouble, right?”

Peter’s head bobs furiously.

“We’re under strict orders from Sister Faith. She’s been kind enough to let us cross into her region and she says we’re to cause no trouble while we’re here. And the Father says no harm can come to you, even accidentally. So we didn’t bring guns or nothing, we didn’t want you caught in the crossfire.”

The other Peggies are waking up around them. Peter seems annoyed when a few rush towards Rook, offerings in their hands and pleas on their lips. They all look the same level of exhausted, bruising around their eyes from lack of sleep and almost gaunt, like they’ve skipped a few needed meals to be here. Rook notes, now that he’s close enough to them, that some of them are wounded. Bandages slapped hastily into place, wrapped poorly around thighs or shoulders, peeking out from underneath clothes. 

The Resistance’s doing, he finds out once he asks. Which upsets him more than it should. The Peggies have a history of being assholes, but they’re following orders. And if Peter’s telling the truth, none of them are causing any trouble while they’re here, there’s no reason for them to be attacked like this. 

He needs to get them all to someplace safe. Get them away from the Resistance that seems determined to tear through them despite the fact that they pose, at the moment, no threat. 

“Give me a radio.” He sticks a hand out, isn’t surprised when three different ones come back at him in an instant. Rook grabs one at random, lighting up a smile on that particular Peggie’s face that he tries to ignore as he fiddles with the frequency and lifts it to his mouth. 

“Dutch? You awake?”

“Can’t sleep with all the excitement,” comes the drawled response. “What can I do for the most popular man in Hope County?”

“Can I borrow some space on your island? Not much. Just like...a house?”

“Should be some ‘round here that would work for you.” Dutch laughs. “Did the Jail kick you out, kid?”

“Not...exactly.” Rook hedges, before giving up the ghost because there’s no way Dutch isn’t gonna find out anyhow. “The Resistance has been attacking some of the Peggies who are bringing me gifts and stuff. And they’re not fighting back but that’s not fair. I want them someplace safe.”

The silence stretches on long enough that Rook hangs his head. He knew it was a long shot, but he figured he’d try. Try for a nice neutral middle ground as opposed to moving into any of the particular regions and giving one brother a sense of winning. 

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“They’re harmless.” Rook defends. “Said they’re under orders not to let me get hurt. Which means no fighting and no guns.”

“They’d say anything to get you right where those damn Seeds want you.”

A few of the Peggies grumble, clearly irritated with Dutch’s words, but Rook just talks over the discontent. 

“Which is why I’m asking to stay on your land. Not in John’s region or Jacob’s. Not back at Joseph’s compound. No one wins here except me.”

“And those fucking Peggies.”

Rook winces.

“And the Peggies.”

“Kid...I don’t know what the hell you’re planning. But I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you had someone watching your back while you did it.”

“Thank you,” Rook breathes as Dutch mumbles something about this being a “shitshow and a half.” 

The Peggies are looking at him expectantly when he lowers the radio. There’s something close to hope in their eyes and something else that’s too close to worship for Rook to consider for too long.

“You don’t have to come with.” He says, casts his voice loud enough that the small group can hear, even those just now waking and joining the rest. “You can tell your Herald’s you lost me. Tell them that I moved and you couldn’t find me. Or, if you want, you can come with me to Dutch’s Island. There aren’t as many Resistance members there, but that’s because there’s no war on that island.”

He nails the group with a stern glare. Something some of them seem to flinch under. 

“And there will _be_ no war there. No guns, no violence. No bloodshed, no matter how holy you think that bloodshed would be.”

“We cannot return to our Heralds without you in tow,” Peter says quietly at his elbow, the lot of Peggies nodding along. “We will follow you and we will continue our attempts to place you at our Herald’s sides.”

Great. 

“Someone go get a car. A few cars.” Rook waves them off, leaving him standing with Peter, shivering in the chill of the air. 

“You might want to...open Brother John’s present.”

“Am I gonna like what’s inside?”

Peter sinks his teeth into his lip.

“You’ve liked...similar things?”

It’s a fucking blanket. Made of some sort of fur that’s so soft his callouses catch when he unfurls it from the wrapping. Heavy and probably warm as all hell. A million times better than the one he’d left in a bunched pile on the couch. 

He has to laugh. Otherwise, Rook’s afraid he’ll start screaming.

.O.

It takes a week before anyone comes to visit. Just long enough for Rook to get himself and the Peggies settled in. It’s not the greatest of set-ups, they’re all kinda smashed into two houses close enough that the Peggies hadn’t protested. Rook has a rotating schedule of Peggies allowed to stay in the house he’s in, to avoid favoritism mostly. 

He doesn’t even know how it’s all working out so nicely. He put Peter in charge of it--which had made the man nearly faint on the spot--and left it to him to figure out. Rook’s only caveat was that they warn him of coming guests and that they don’t come near his claimed room. 

The Peggies are respectful. On a level that’s close to how they talk about their Heralds and doesn’t _that_ make him panic at night.

Respectful enough that Rook knows well in advance that Jacob’s made his way down the mountain for a visit. Is given enough warning to shape himself into something respectable and shove his panic into a corner of his brain, to rot there until he inevitably has an anxiety attack tonight when he’s in bed. 

Jacob looks different, somehow, in the light of day as opposed to the darkened corners of a church. Less imposing--though Rook’s hindbrain still screams “dangerous!” at him on sight alone--expression and body language open as he steps from his truck and starts towards him. The few Peggies from Jacob’s region are milling around, probably to show their Herald they haven’t given up on their task.

“Heard you moved. Thought we might’ve finally convinced you.”

“All of my options are not great. We only left because your people were in danger.”

“My men are well trained.” Jacob crosses his arms, coming to a stop far enough away Rook doesn’t feel cornered. “Can’t say the same for the others, but mine would’ve been fine.”

“That isn’t the _point_.”

Jacob snorts, casts his eyes around. He’s judging, Rook knows, judging the men and the set-up and probably him, too. But he doesn’t mention it, just turns his sharp gaze back to Rook.

“Haven’t made a decision yet?”

“How am I supposed to? I don’t _know_ any of you past you all being insane members of some cult that’s wrecked this whole county.”

“Doesn’t matter. Your soul will. We’re supposed to be together, we’d adjust.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that you touched Joseph and now he’s got a nice pretty Rook Wylde on his wrist instead of the initials.” Jacob snorts, arches one brow. “Weird name, you know that right?”

“Sorry it’s not biblical.” Rook rolls his eyes. “So that should be it then, right? Joseph’s clearly the one for me.”

“You haven’t touched John or I. And we know your wrist still just has the initials. Could mean you’re not meant for each other.”

“And what if I do it, huh?” Rook doesn’t want to know but he has to know. Has to know the plans past “send our men to Rook until he gets tired of saying no”. “What if I touch you and I still have the initials? Do you give up?”

“Joseph hasn’t.” Jacob makes a point of extending his hand between them, palm up in offering. “But I can’t say unless I find out for myself.”

There are too many eyes watching. It feels too public. But Jacob looks like he knows that and _wants_ that, which makes sense. Rook gets the feeling Jacob’s the type to show off his lover, tuck them into his side and let others be envious. He’d gotten wind of the inclination just by the gifts Jacob had sent, the thick coat and the proper boots and rabbit foot that Rook has hanging off the bedpost of his bed--but threw away if anyone would ever ask about it.

“This is the stupidest decision I’ve ever made.” Rook mumbles under his breath, something like a smile pulling at Jacob’s lips as he steps forward.

There’s a spark in his veins the second their fingertips make contact, intensifying and swirling around in his stomach when Jacob clasps his hand and yanks him in closer. They’re so close Rook has a hand braced on his chest, trying to keep distance, and the Peggies are staring at them with awe. 

Hopeful, probably. Praying that this works and they can all go back, more than likely. 

“Well,” Jacob’s voice is strained, like he’s trying not to say too much, eyes locked down on the inside of his wrist. “Look at that.”

Rook can’t look anywhere else, unfortunately. His eyes are pulled to where the ink on Jacob’s wrist is shifting, expanding, curling over to take up far more skin.

His name looks good on the scarred flesh. Looks right, somehow. But there’s still a buzzing beneath his skin and the initials on his wrist stay stubbornly in place, refusing to change. Rook gently extracts his hand from Jacob’s hold, drops it back down to his side, and tries to meet Jacob’s eyes as evenly as he can. 

He’d expected to see some signs of defeat. Maybe some exhaustion. Rook can’t even imagine how difficult it must be, going through life trying to find a soulmate only to find your brother has the same name. Surely they had some hints--it’s unheard of for three people, three _brothers_ , to share the same initials--but it’s clear none of them actually thought it’d be the same person.

“What happens now?” Rook asks quietly as Jacob rubs his wrist against his side once more, the Peggies suddenly milling around as Jacob looks past him, at them. 

“I’m leaving my men. You need the protection, regardless.”

“That’s not what I--”

“I know.” Jacob’s trying to smile but it looks fractured, strained, like he forgot how to properly do so. “I don’t know what happens next. Didn’t figure you’d even let me try, if I’m honest. I’ll touch base with Joseph, see if he’s got any ideas.”

“John’s going to come next, right?”

“More than likely. Surprised he hasn’t already.” Jacob reaches out, an aborted move that has Rook swaying forwards, like he can offer any comfort to the shattered expression on his face. “Just--we’ll figure it out. Some part of you is supposed to be mine. I’m not walking away from that.”

“I’m sorry.” Rook offers, though the words ring hollow. “I don’t know why it’s--I thought it might--I’m sorry.”

“S’alright. We’ll make it alright.” Jacob shakes his head, smile a little more fitting now but self-pitying, sad. “Got a long history of fixing problems for my brothers. We’ll figure it out.”

Peter sidles up as Jacob turns on his heel, makes his way back to the truck. He’s silent at Rook’s side, not speaking as Jacob drives off, and Rook’s glad for the company, odd as it is. Something feels like it’s changing, shifting inside him, under his feet. 

“Do you ever think--you shouldn’t be where you are? Like, you were never supposed to go somewhere and because you did, you’re being punished?”

“God never gives us a heavier weight than we can shoulder,” Peter says softly, Rook’s head whipping around with narrowed eyes.

“Something from the Book of Joseph?”

“Something from the Bible.” Peter counters, easy as breathing, but softly, like he knows Rook’s one more hit away from shattering. “I was Christian before I converted to Eden’s Gate. It’s not all bad, you know? Not all fire and brimstone.”

Rook stares at him for a long moment. He’s waiting, he thinks, for Peter to say something. Try and convince him that Jacob isn’t his intended, that Joseph isn’t either. Start pleading John’s case yet again. But Peter simply meets his gaze evenly and stays quiet, a placid expression on his face that doesn’t give away anything.

“I’m going to...go lay down.” He feels exhausted and Rook’s fairly sure it’s not just emotional, this whole thing is taking a toll on him in all ways. “Just--tell me when John’s coming for a visit.”

“He’d planned for today.” Peter admits softly, “but I can--I’ll advise him to wait until tonight?”

“Sure.”

He won’t be any better by tonight, Rook knows. But better to get this all over with so he can get back to whatever the hell he thought he was going to do in Hope County. 

Like ripping off a band-aid. Get it over with, accept the pain. Better agony all at once than suffering drawn out. 

God, he’s so tired.

.O.

Predictably, John shows up just before dinner. The Peggies are pretty good at making sure Rook eats--which is a change from whatever microwave food he was able to shove into his mouth at the Jail. He’s fairly certain it’s all an attempt to sway him towards one Herald or another, some of them serving up cuts of meats and telling him Jacob insists on only the best, others handing over steaming bowls of soup with a murmur that the Father likes this particular recipe the best.

Rook’s just swallowed his first bite of soup--chicken noodle, which is more filling than he thought--when John strides through the front door. Peter’s right behind him, mouthing apologetic words over his shoulder, clearly not able to push the visit back as far as he thought.

“John.” Rook greets with as much cheer as he can muster, waving at the empty seat across from him. “Sit. We’re having soup, you want any?”

“I’ve eaten already.” John settles regardless and looks into his bowl with a curled lip. “Joseph’s people made that, yes? I never understood how they could eat it. Men should eat and enjoy it, not eat what’s crammed together in a pot because it tastes awful on its own.”

“John,” Rook warns mildly, watching some of the Peggies serving their brothers and sisters flinch, eyes dropping and shoulders curling inwards. “If you insist on being an asshole, I’m going to kick you out.”

John stares open-mouthed at him, Rook returning the gaze evenly as he spoons another mouthful in. He doesn’t have to exaggerate his reactions, it really is good soup, and some of the shoulders widen, cautious little smiles returning to exhausted faces. John shifts, uncomfortable and clearly off balance, before his eyes dart around and land on Peter.

“Peter tells me he’s become something of a confidant to you.”

“Did he?” Rook doesn’t want to give an inch, not when John’s so damn good at finding people’s weak spots. “I trust him, sure. Not sure I’d say confidant but if that’s the term you wanna use, go ahead.”

He hates to say it, because it is, admittedly, somewhat true. Peter’s not the guy to sit and have long-winded conversations at 3 am like Hurk or Sharky, but he’d have been good friends with the guy in another life. He’s got a solid head on his shoulders, knows when to push and when to back off, and keeps the others corralled so Rook’s stress level is at an all-time low. 

He’s also intimately familiar with a soulmate struggle. He’d met his own years ago, a guy he’d described as “tall, handsome, with a smile like the rising sun”. And his family had thrown him out over it, which is what got him into Eden’s Gate in the first place.

His soulmate hadn’t followed behind. And Rook knows Peter’s loyalty to Eden’s Gate is weakened because of that. 

“Well, I had hoped--” John bites the sentence off, shakes his head. “No. Let’s not get into it. I hear Jacob’s been to visit.”

“He has.”

“And he has your name on his wrist now.”

“He does.” Rook scoops another spoonful into his mouth, chews idly as John’s face grows redder and redder. 

“Would you just--” He snaps a hand out, reaches across the table in offering, in a silent demand. “I want to know.”

“It didn’t change anything with Jacob or Joseph,” Rook says quietly, but he puts his spoon down anyhow. “Why would it change something with you?”

He’s distantly aware of Peter shepherding the Peggies from the room, hustling them out with gentle touches and a fierce look. John doesn’t seem aware, or doesn’t care, staring him down with his hand still hovering between them.

“I need to know.”

Fair enough. 

Rook reaches out and it’s...different. The spark is still the same, rushing from their touch up his arm, into his chest, and lower. But it feels...complete in a way it didn’t before. Like a final piece clicking into place. It’s enough to make Rook yank away, stand from his chair so fast he nearly knocks it over. 

John rises too and there’s something Rook can’t read in his face.

“You felt that? Did you--it must mean--”

“I can’t do this right now.” Rook shakes his head, holds up his hands when John makes to round the table. “John, no. I can’t make a decision. You can’t force this.”

“But you felt it.” It’s a quite accusation that doesn’t sit well with the adrenaline pounding through his veins. 

“I felt it. Now, please. Just...can you go?”

“A gift, before I do.” John draws something from his pocket, hands it over, keeping just enough distance between them. “You won’t be able to get a call out from the County. But you can call me.”

“Just you?”

John blows out a frustrated breath. 

“And Jacob. And Joseph. They were insistent.”

“Thank you.” It might make it easier. Privacy as opposed to the potential exposure a radio call offers. “I do, honestly, appreciate it, John.”

“I could give you so much more. You need only ask. You need only _choose_.”

“Goodbye, John.” Rook tucks the phone into his pocket, crosses his arms as John nods once, sharply, aware he’s being dismissed. 

“If I could--” There’s a half step towards him, John always pushing for more, seeing where the boundaries lie and how far he can cross them.

But Rook lets it happen, against his better judgment. Let’s John slide in close, cup a hand around his jaw and pull him into a kiss. It’s sweet, chaste, and Rook could lose himself to it so easily. Forget all his troubles for the moment to fall into John’s arms.

But he can’t. Not if the little idea in the back of his mind is anything close to true. Not if what’s happening is what he thinks is happening.

“Goodbye, John.” Rook repeats, pressing his palms to the man’s chest and gently but firmly pushing him away.

He wants to argue. It’s clear he does, John _lives_ for an argument. Especially if winning it means tipping the scales in his favor. But he doesn’t. Just inclines his head and turns on his heel, the air not nearly as heavy or vicious as it was moments before.

John’s gone for all of ten minutes, the roar of an engine outside telling Rook he complied, no matter how unhappy he was with it, when Peter slips back inside. He’s nervous, shifting on his feet, but he meets Rook’s eyes evenly.

“And?”

“Same as always.” Rook unfolds his arms, looks down at his wrist. “Still just the initials. But John has my name now. And I think...I think I might understand it.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I think I just...need a bit.”

“All the time you need.” Peter inclines his head, waves Rook away when he reaches for his bowl. “I’ll clean up. Rest, Herald.”

Rook stops in place, but so does Peter. Watches as the color drains from the other man’s face before blotches of red spring onto his cheeks.

“Alright. We will address that tomorrow.” Rook says slowly, swallowing back any hysterical screaming because _what_ the fuck.

“Yessir.”

.O.

So, they’re _all_ his soulmate. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The only thing that explains the feeling of completion in his bones, in his blood. He’s touched them all, they all bear his name now, and of course his marks hadn’t switched because JS still stands for all of them.

Which is what he’s supposed to have. Three different soulmates. 

“I can’t imagine this is the only time this has happened,” Peter says, watching Rook pace as he flips through a huge book of news articles, recent and global.

Rook doesn’t fucking like Nancy, not after hearing she was on Eden’s Gate’s side the whole time, but damn if her compulsive scrapbooking isn’t coming in clutch.

“But it’s got to be super rare, right? We’d definitely know if it had happened before. _Someone_ would know!”

Rook’s aware he’s inching towards hysterics. But he’s had a few days to deal with this--or not deal with it, as it’s turning out--and he’s finding _nothing_ and it’s just Peter, Peter’s used to it by now. That whole Herald thing had been a massive bump in the road that Rook is still firmly not acknowledging because he’d like to stay sane, but Peter’s good. Peter’s solid. 

Peter’s looking at him like he thinks he might pass out.

“I cannot have three soulmates. I’m just--I’m a dude!”

“I don’t think that’s really for us to decide. God decides our soulmates.” Peter shrugs, flipping another page. “Maybe he decided you needed three. Maybe you were the perfect match to help the Father and Brother’s Jacob and John.”

“They’re _cult leaders_.”

“Eden’s Gate is a church that promotes acceptance and salvation and--”

“It’s a cult.”

“It has...elements that some may consider being...similar to other organizations that have been called cults.” Peter allows slowly as Rook tries not to throw something at him. 

“So what the fuck do I do? I can’t pick one of them because it’s supposed to be _all_ of them but they’re not gonna like that because they’re fucks and I can’t just tell them all to go away because I hate it, I _hate_ it, but it feels right knowing that they’re all supposed to be mine. Feels right like nothing has _ever_ felt right and I hate that I’m just now realizing why that was.”

“I don’t know how to help you.” Peter murmurs quietly, hands flat against the pages of the book. “But I think, if I can suggest, that you need to talk to the Father. And Brother John and Brother Jacob. You need to explain what you’re thinking to them. Or this isn’t going to stop.”

He gestures vaguely towards the window, where Rook can see a few Peggies chatting, holding new gifts in their hands. For the most part, the ones who made the journey from the Jail to Dutch’s Island have stayed with him, admitting lowly when Rook asked that they prefer their place here, with him, to their own region. There’s been a few more who have come, some of them returning once Rook took the gifts and shoved them into the closet of his home and some staying, curiosity in their faces as they talked to the Peggies who keep him company here.

“Yeah, I know. I know.” Rook scrubs his hands down his face, feeling exhausted for the seven billionth time since this all started. “I should--any chance you can arrange that for me?”

“I could. Would you like them to come here?”

“No.” Rook answers with a groan. “But I’m sure as hell not going there. I don’t want any of them to have familiar territory or the upper hand.”

It doesn’t take Peter as long as Rook thought it might, but he’s unsurprised. He’s been running from the Seeds long enough he’s sure they’re all leaping for a chance to get at him. John tries to come that night, waving away any concerns that he might be busy, but Jacob, thankfully, snaps and tells him to be patient. They decide on early the next morning, leaving Rook to toss and turn the entire night, waking the next day feeling worse.

And probably looking it too, if Peter’s grimace when he comes to let him know they’ve arrived is any indication.

“I could...buy you time? If you wanted to wake up a bit more?”

“This garbage heap is supposedly God’s destined soulmate for them.” Rook mutters with a gesture to his body. “Might as well be honest with what they’re getting.”

Peter frowns like he wants to comment but steps aside, let’s Rook trudge down the hall and stairs. The brothers are all seated around the kitchen table talking, furious whispers that stop the second they spot him. Joseph pushes back from his seat immediately, rising to his feet with a frown.

“Rook, you look _terrible_. Has something happened?”

“Yeah, I’d say it did.” Rook sits himself down heavily, ignoring Joseph’s concerned touches, brushing his hands away. “I’m fine. We just--we all need to talk.”

“So you’ve said.” Joseph murmurs, going back to his seat though he’s clearly irritated about it. “Have you made a decision then? Peter was, unfortunately, rather vague when he called all of us here.”

It’s said like he’s agitated and it makes Rook grit his teeth. Peter isn’t here, ducked out around the same time Joseph got up, but still. That’s the only ally he has right now.

“I told him to be. I didn’t make a decision because I _can’t_.” Rook spreads his hands wide. “Look. You all have my name on your wrists and I still have the initials. And I think it’s the same reason why I can’t choose. I can’t choose one of you over the others because I’m not _supposed to_.”

“Are you suggesting...we’re all your soulmate?” John asks, eyes narrowed, sharp. “The chances of that are--”

“Are what?” Jacob breaks in, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Roughly the same odds as kids being split up in foster care and still managing to find each other again?”

“It’s not the _same_.”

“It might as well be,” Joseph says quietly. “Jacob has a point, John. God has led our lives before in ways we did not expect. How could we think it would not happen once more?”

“Could you love all of us?” John asks quietly, not quite meeting Rook’s eyes, looking around the vicinity of his throat instead. “Or would you only stay with some to please the others?”

“I spent all this time running around trying to avoid showing favoritism because the idea of choosing one of you over the others made me feel like I was gonna throw up.”

“Oh.” John flinches, looks a bit ashamed. “I thought--we all thought--that you were just being difficult.”

“Oh, I definitely was. But a part of it was just that...I couldn’t choose.”

“There are conditions.” Jacob shifts his eyes to his brothers and then Rook. “There always are. What do you want in return?”

“Uh--stop murdering innocent people? Stop killing anyone who dares disagree with your rhetoric?” Rook ticks them off on his fingers. “Stop trying to turn this county into your own personal commune? Let people come to you willingly, don’t force it.”

“We must save souls. Whether they want to be saved or not.”

“Then you don’t get mine. You can have all the souls you want, Joseph.” Rook leans back in his chair, mirrors Jacob’s closed off body language. “But you won’t have me.”

Joseph isn’t happy to be backed into a corner. It’s clear in the way his jaw muscles tick under his beard, the way his eyes narrow behind his glasses. But he sighs, looks aside, breaks under Rook’s demands. 

“I do not wish to live my life having gotten this close to God’s intended and simply cast them aside. I can...we will change. Slowly. But I am certain we are all capable of it.”

“That means no more training camps up in the mountains.” Rook shoves a finger in Jacob’s direction before rounding on John. “And no more carving people up like pork. No more pain.”

“If they wish to be unburdened--”

“They have to be _strong_ \--”

“No.” Rook slaps his hand against the table. “I said no. No more. I cannot be with people who do nothing but fuck over every single person they come into contact with.”

“And if they come willingly?” John counters while Jacob looks close to throttling him. 

“If they choose it, that’s on them. But you have to give them the _option_ to choose.”

“Arrogant to think we’d change everything we’ve built for you.”

“But will you?” Rook locks eyes with Jacob, refusing to back down. It takes a moment but Jacob sucks his teeth, exhales so hard his nostrils flare.

“Yes. Little fucking brat.”

“We have our own caveats as well.” Joseph points out, neatly shutting the argument down before it can start.

Jacob’s going to be rough to get along with, Rook already knows. John’s needy, it bleeds from his every pore, and Joseph won’t fight this because it’s “God’s will.” But Jacob is going to make him work for every gained inch.

On the plus side, Rook can already tell the sex is going to be fucking fantastic. With all of them but especially with Jacob.

“Hit me.”

“You’ll stop resisting our gifts,” John says instantly, cutting off whatever Joseph was going to ask. “We’ve carefully chosen them for you and you _will_ accept them.”

Alright, that one’s fair. Rook does feel bad that most of the gifts have been given away or shoved into a closet. There’s at least some thought that’s gone into them and it’s always felt wrong to just toss them aside.

“Alright. Fine. What else?”

“You will attend the sermons. Perhaps not behind the pulpit as Jacob and John do. But I would have my soulmate there, to hear the proclamations that God has commanded me to deliver unto the people.”

“Not...I’ll try. Maybe not every single one.”

“As often as you can.” Joseph allows softly. “But you _will_ attend. If I am to have your soul, Rook, I will save it.”

“Fine. Jacob?”

Jacob considers it for a moment, visibly going through the options in his head. He’s rocking back in his chair, a subtle motion, and Rook can read the tension in his body from every small movement.

“You stay with us. Split your time between our regions. We can share you as a soulmate, but we get time with you all on our own.”

“Yes.” John jumps in before Rook can respond. “Agreed. I have no problem sharing with my brother’s if it is to be commanded of us by a higher power. But I want to get to know my soulmate on a more...personal level.”

“Fine. As long as I get time to myself too. I think Dutch will let me come back here and when I do, that means leave me alone for a little while.” Rook holds his hands up when three mouths drop open. “Not totally. I won’t run off. Peter gave me the phone, you can call and text all you want. But there are gonna be times where I want to just...be by myself. Having three soulmates is bound to be a little overwhelming.”

“Understandable. But we aren’t gonna be pleased if you run off here every other day.”

“And I won’t.” Rook assures Jacob with a small smile. “I’m not actually a dick, just so you guys know. I’ve actually been called a ‘very nice young man’ on many occasions.”

The atmosphere seems to lighten instantly. Like they were all prepared to go toe to toe in a battle to see who would win and now that the war has been avoided by some actual discussion, it leaves them all relieved. John sits back in his chair, a pleased little smile lingering on his lips. Joseph has his fingers steepled in front of him, staring at Rook with that inscrutable gaze, and Jacob’s back on all four chair legs, fingers drumming on the table. 

Conversation flows easy, then. Like they’re normal people and not three cult leaders and a Deputy who should be bringing them to justice. Rook can’t legally arrest them now anyway, no point in dwelling on the could-have-beens. Time passes faster than he thinks and it’s not long before there’s a timid knock on the door and Peter’s poking his head in.

“I wanted to see if--do you need anything, Rook?”

“I’m good,” Rook says easily as John waves Peter closer.

“I hear we have you to thank for helping Rook realize the truth. Well done, Peter. You can return to the Valley tonight with me.”

“Oh. Uh...thank you, Brother John.” Peter inclines his head but there’s a frown pulling the corners of his mouth down, body filled with tension. “If he doesn’t need me anymore…”

Rook thinks of the little slip-up. Thinks of how the Peggies seemed nervous to have all this resolved when Rook had told them about his plans. Thinks about how he’s settled into a routine with them, albeit a strange one. 

“Hey, can I--can I ask for one more thing?”

“Of course.” Joseph allows with a tip of his head. “Within reason. We do wish for you to be happy, Rook.”

“Can I kinda...can I keep some of the Peggies? Like Peter? We’ve gotten to know each other and they’re not all bad and they seem nice. For cultists, anyhow.”

“I would leave that decision largely up to them.” 

“Yes.” Peter barely waits until Joseph’s finished speaking. “Yes, I’d--I’ve been talking to the men. Some of us wish to stay with Rook, to assist him as best we can. We’ve found a place here that feels right, feels as though it’s where we should be.”

“Couldn’t be satisfied with three soulmates,” Jacob mutters with a hint of amusement, just low enough for Rook to hear. “Had to go and have some of the faithful fall for you too, huh?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Rook fires back as Joseph clears his throat.

“If you feel this is your place...well. I can’t say a part of me isn’t pleased that Rook would take some of my flock under his wing. Nor can I express any displeasure that some of you have found your place here.”

“The Herald of the island.” John muses as Rook kicks lightly at him below the table with a hissed “stop that right now!”

Peter grins, seems to be resisting the urge to bounce on his toes. 

“I’ll inform the others. We all offer our sincerest thanks to you, Father. And Brother’s Jacob and John.”

Joseph dismisses him with a wave and Rook shoots him a thumbs up that earns him a blinding grin just as Peter disappears out the door.

“Careful.” Joseph murmurs as Rook turns his attention back to him. “One might think you’re stealing my flock right from my pasture.”

Rook snorts, thinking of what Jerome had told him before he’d gone to the church so many nights ago.

“Oh no. Don’t think that. What terrible sort of person convinces people to leave their church and join another?”

“Rook.” Joseph rolls his eyes but the barb didn’t stick, sliding off easy with Rook’s amused tone and insincere venom.

“Bit anticlimactic.” Jacob muses. “We go through all this...and you just accept it. So easy.”

“Oh, no, it was not easy. Do you see this face? This stressed out fucking face? This was _not_ easy.”

“We’ll make it up to you,” John assures him, sliding a hand over to cover Rook’s on the table. “Plenty of rest. A bit of pampering. Just what our soulmate deserves.”

“How big’s the bed in this place?” Jacob wonders. “My people can run everything for a night. No reason for me to rush back. Don’t know about John or Joseph, though.”

“I can stay!”

“And the commune will do nicely without me. I should inform Faith of what has happened anyhow.”

“That’s another thing. No more Bliss.”

“I’m not sure you can make demands of someone who isn’t your soulmate,” Joseph says gently as Rook shakes his head.

“Nope. It makes me wanna throw up and my throat gets tight. I think I’m allergic.”

“Ah. Then I shall pass along the message immediately.”

Rook laughs because how can he not? All the struggles, all the fighting he did with himself and the brothers...and it’s so easy now. As easy as people always said it would be with soulmates. It’s going to be weird for a long while, all of them having to adjust. He’s going to have to deal with John wanting him for longer, he can already tell from the way he’s refusing to let go of Rook’s hand. Probably going to have to deal with Joseph persistently trying to convert him.

He isn’t even sure what Jacob is going to do and that’s a scarier thought than the other two. But he isn’t actively _scared_. None of them are going to hurt him, he knows this like the beat of his heart, the back of his hand. 

He’s home. And a strange a home as it is...it finally feels right. Rook’s life has never been easy. Probably never will be at this point, not with these intense men as his soulmates.

And that’s alright. It’s worth it, in the end.


End file.
